


UP

by quillquiver



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, deancasweek, disney!au, fluff and crying, glasses!kink, kinda smut, tie!kink, up!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 21:07:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1319188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillquiver/pseuds/quillquiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak is going to be an explorer. He is going to climb Mount Everest and sail fearlessly into the Bermuda Triangle. He is going to fly around the world and hurdle the Grand Canyon! Castiel Novak is going to be the best explorer, second only to the Great Azazel Blackfoot, because—</p><p>“Adventure is out there!”</p><p>Castiel freezes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	UP

**Author's Note:**

> UP!AU written for DeanCas Week 2014 :) Hope you enjoy!  
> PS. This may need to be majorly edited. Bear with me.

Castiel Novak is going to be an explorer. He is going to climb Mount Everest and sail fearlessly into the Bermuda Triangle. He is going to fly around the world and hurdle the Grand Canyon. Castiel Novak is going to be the  _best_  explorer, second only to the Great Azazel Blackfoot, because—

“Adventure is out there!”

Castiel freezes.

Hand squeezing the string of his blue ‘Spirit of Adventure’ balloon, the dark-haired boy looks over at the dilapidated house with wide blue eyes. His head tilts to the side curiously, fingers anxiously forming and re-forming fists. Castiel can hear a boy’s voice chirp and yell loudly in the old building, a weather vane spinning wildly on its roof as ropes pull it every which way.

The blue-eyed boy hesitates for only a moment before stepping onto the overgrown lot and making his way towards the house.

“Engines are full, all systems go! Hold it together, Baby, come on… Let’s aim for 10,000 feet! But not too high, right? Can’t have you freezin’ up on me. Rudders eighteen degrees South!”

Castiel takes a deep breath and enters the house. The floorboards squeak underneath his explorer boots and he bites a chapped lip, sneaking along until he rounds a corner.

The boy looks to be about eight years old.

He’s wearing a flight helmet and goggles identical to Castiel’s own, his legs clad in dirty, baggy, patched jeans. There’s a too-large white t-shirt covering his chest, and a long-sleeved plaid number and huge leather jacket have been thrown to the floor carelessly. The other Adventurer is steering a makeshift old bike wheel in the middle of the room, throwing himself from side to side with every movement. The place set up crudely like a cockpit, and it’s when Castiel observes the ripped up floorboards and amateurly nailed together support for the steering wheel that he notices two things:

1\. The boy isn’t wearing any shoes.

2\. There’s another, younger boy huddled up in a corner of the room, eyes cast down as he scribbles on a paper. His hair is chocolate brown.

“Day’s a beaut, Baby! Two hundred percent visibility. Winds coming from the East. Sammy!”

The youngest looks up from his corner, eyes wide and expectant as he keeps his crayon poised over the paper. Though the older boy is turned away from Castiel, he can hear the grin in his voice.

“Enter the weather in the logbook!”

With a serious frown, the chocolate-haired child starts his scribbling; making big, loopy designs on the blank page before reaching behind his back for another. His tongue is poking out between his teeth. With one final flourish, the young boy jumps to his feet, toddling over to a wall saturated with white paper and coloured swirls. Taking a tack from a bucket on the floor, ‘Sammy’ hammers it in place with a flat rock. “Weather log completed, Captain Dean!”

“Good job, Sammy. Back to work.”

Castiel notices newspaper clippings on the nearmost wall and turns, distracted:  _Azazel Blackwood hurdles Pike-Peak!_

“Uh oh! Sam, battle stations! Storm’s coming! Lighting! Wind! Rain! HAIL!”

Castiel is so pre-occupied, he doesn’t realize the yelling has stopped until he’s got a face full of goggled green eyes and freckled cheeks, the boy’s—Dean’s—brows pulled together in accusation. “What are you doing?!” he demands roughly.

Castiel screams. His balloon slips from his grasp and floats up into the unknown, but the dark-haired boy is too pre-occupied with sweating nervously to care. Dean circles him in suspicion. “Sammy, keep ‘er on course! We’ve got an intruder.”

Off in the distance, Sam gasps.

“Alright, wise guy,” Dean says, all tough and manly as he puffs out his chest and pushes into Castiel’s space. “What d’you think you’re doing, huh? This is an exclusive club. Only  _explorers_  get in, not just any bum off the street with a helmet and a pair of goggles!” Dean squints. “You think you got what it takes, kid? Huh?! Well, do ya?!”

Castiel’s voice has stopped working. “I- well, uh- I…” He trails off into a series of unintelligible noises, fingers nervously fisting the material of his light blue polo as he chews his bottom lip, eyes wide.

“Alright, you’re in,” Dean says finally and with a shrug. He extends a hand. “Welcome Aboard!”

Castiel blushes and looks down at his boots.

Dean frowns. “What’s wrong? You can talk, right?”

When there’s no response from the blue-eyed boy, Dean's face softens. “Hey, c’mon, I don’t bite or nothin’.”

Silence.

Dean’s brows pull together and he sighs, pulling off his helmet. Castiel almost screams again: the other boy’s hair is sandy-brown and popping up in all directions. It’s like his entire head is composed of spikes.

“Here,” he murmurs softly, shaking his hair to get rid of the static. He reaches for the Root Beer cap pin on his shirt and undoes it, attaching it to Castiel’s polo with a smile. “You and me, we’re in a club now.”

“And me!” Sam chirps from behind.

Dean rolls his eyes. “C’mon, I saw where your balloon went.”

When Castiel doesn’t follow him up the stairs, the light-haired boy strides back into the room and grabs his new friend’s hand, pulling him along. “My name’s Dean, and that dweeb’s my brother, Sam.”

Sam waves. Dean squeezes Castiel’s hand. Castiel blushes.

The nest thing the dark-haired boy knows, he’s standing on a very rickety floor in what used to be an attic. “Well, there it is,” Dean says expectantly, motioning to the other side of the room. Castiel gulps.

Between their starting point and destination, the roof is gone but for one single beam.

“Watcha waitin’ for? Go!” Dean insists, pushing Castiel forward. The blue-eyed boy stumbles onto the old piece of wood, looking at the other nervously. Dean makes a shooing motion with his hands.

With a deep breath, Castiel sets his shoulders, pulls on his goggles… And falls through the floor with his first step.

He smiles all the way to the hospital.

~ * ~

Even though Castiel knows he not supposed to, he reads in bed. It’s a little awkward to hold both the book and flashlight with his new cast and everything, but he doesn’t mind all that much. After all, he’d been on an  _adventure_  today.

Something hits his book.

Castiel yelps in surprise, the quick movement of his arm causing the boy to whimper as he looks up to see the intruder, blue eyes falling on his equally blue (and previously lost) adventure balloon. He gasps in amazement.

“Hey, kid!!”

Now, Castiel screams abashedly. His entire body starts in surprise, casted arm hitting him in the face with a loud ‘ _smack_ ’. “Ow!”

Dean is climbing through the window. “Miss me?” he grunts, tumbling to the floor clumsily. He’s blushing when he rights himself. “Thought you’d need some cheerin’ up, so I brought something to show ya.”

Against his better judgment, Castiel leans over his bed.

Before he knows it, he and Dean are in a blanket fort. They hunker down facing each other, flashlight in between their legs. Castiel is practically buzzing with anticipation as Dean moves forward, voice hushed. “I’m about to let you see something I’ve never showed any other human being. Ever. In my entire life. Not even Sam.”

Castiel’s eyes widen in alarm.

“You have to swear you won’t tell anybody. Not even your mom and dad. Got it?”

He nods vigorously.

“Good. But cross your heart, too. Just in case.”

Castiel takes a second too long.

“Do it!” Dean insists, watching his new friend jump for the third time that evening. Quickly, Castiel fumbles to cross in the appropriate manner. When it’s done, Dean nods solemnly. He pulls a large book from behind his back. “Here it is,” the green-eyed boy says reverently. “My Adventure Book.” His fingers run over those colourfully embroidered words impossibly soft-like before opening to the first page. Dean nods to the picture of Azazel Blackfoot. “You know him.”

Castiel nods excitedly.

“Azazel Blackfoot,” Dean says somberly. “Explorer. I’m goin’ where he’s goin’… And Sammy’s coming, too: to South America.”

He turns the page to a beautifully printed map, index finger tracing the edge of the continent. “It’s like America,” Dean explains. “…But  _south_.” He shifts to be side-to-side with Castiel, their bodies touching while the dark-haired of the two boys holds the flashlight. “Wanna know where we’re gonna live?” Dean asks.

Castiel nods as the other boy turns the page, this time to an engraving of a large, narrow waterfall. At its rocky top is taped a small, crayon drawing of Dean’s clubhouse. “’Paradise Falls, a land lost in time,’” Dean reads slowly. He turns to Castiel before stating casually: “I ripped this right out of a library book.”

Castiel gasps in utter horror.

But Dean isn’t paying attention. “We’re gonna move Baby there, and park her right next to the falls. Who knows what kinda stuff lives up there, away from everyone, right? And once me and Sammy get there, well…”

‘STUFF TO DO’ is written on the page in big black letters, and Dean makes a show of flipping through the rest of the book's blank pages. “I’m saving these pages for all the adventures we’re gonna have,” he explains. “Only… I still don’t know how I’m gonna  _get_ to Paradise Falls, you know?”

Castiel contemplates this, his gaze resting blankly on one of his toy dirigibles, thrown off to the side. When the boy comes back to himself, he smiles widely, holding the model up for Dean’s inspection.

“That’s it!” Dean exclaims. “Dude, you’re a genius! You can take us there in a blimp! Swear it! Cross your heart and swear you’ll take us!”

Immediately, Castiel does as the other boy says, too alarmed to even dream of going against Dean’s word.

“Good,” Dean says, accomplished. “You promised.” He leans far into Castiel’s personal space and pokes his chest. Hard. “No backing out.”

Castiel shakes his head so hard he gets dizzy.

Then, Dean hops up as if nothing had happened, bouncy and smiley and chirping: “See ya tomorrow, kid!” Like they haven’t just made the biggest promise of their lives. Castiel watches as he jumps out the window as pumps a fist. “ADVENTURE AWAITS.”

He’s gone.

…And then he’s not.

“You know, you don’t talk a whole heckuva lot,” he says, head popping back into view. “I like you.”

Castiel walks up to his window, looking after Dean’s retreating figure in absolute amazement. His cheeks are pink as he sighs and cradles his balloon against the sill, leaning on it.

“Wow.”

The balloon pops.

~ * ~

Though Castiel has never been more excited in his life, he’s also never been so nervous. He fidgets in the church’s back room, fussing with his cufflinks and his hair and the buttons on his jacket. Gabriel hands him a travel-sized whiskey bottle, like the kind you get on airplanes. “You’ll be fine, bro.”

“Gabriel-”

For the first time possibly ever, Gabe puts his hands on Castiel’s shoulders in a loving gesture, face softening to something devoid of any teasing. “Look, that idiot is gonna love you either way... and Dad? Fuck him. Everyone who cares about you is already here, Cas, and nobody gives a shit about anything but the reception anyway. It’ll be fine.”

Castiel walks into the chapel on Dean’s arm.

They stand together at the altar, hands clasped and beaming, and Cas can’t help but give a tiny wave as he looks out to his half of the guests. His mother is the only one seated there—Anna, Gabe and Balthazar being part of the wedding party—and she’s dressed in black. She blows her nose in a handkerchief before giving a small nod of recognition. Castiel turns back to his soon-to-be-husband with a smile.

“Do you, Dean Winchester-”

“I do.”

All of Dean’s bubbly, brightly coloured family laugh at his impatience. The priest isn’t as impressed.

“And do you, Castiel Novak, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to be true to him in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love him and honour him all the days of your life?”

“I do,” Cas says quietly, smiling so big it’ll split his face.

The priest nods. “The consent must be an act of the will of each of the contracting parties, free of coercion or grave external fear. No human power can substitute for this consent. If this freedom is lacking the marriage is invalid.” He looks pointedly at Adam. “The rings?”

Plucking a plain gold band from the white silk pillow, Dean slips the band on Castiel’s finger, pressing a kiss to his knuckle. “Cas- Castiel,” he corrects himself, never looking away from blue eyes. “Take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

It takes everything Cas has not to kiss Dean senseless. Instead, the dark-haired man easily slides the other ring onto his partner’s finger, thumb brushing the smooth gold of the band like whisper. They both smile privately at the knowledge that, engraved on the inside of each piece are the words: ‘Adventure Awaits’. “Dean,” Cas grins. “Take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

Both men are practically vibrating by the time the last prayer is done, and Dean jumps at Cas as soon as the words: “you may kiss,” pass the priest's lips. With a grin, Dean dips his best friend dramatically, planting a big, elated kiss on Castiel’s mouth.

Dean’s family roars with applause.

Cas’s mother claps politely.

By the end of the night, Dean and Cas are the only ones left in the small reception hall, wrapped up in each other as they dance to music that has long since left, and taking small, subconscious cues from one another. The pair have spent the night dancing and laughing and kissing, and Cas’s face is still sticky from where Dean had smeared pie all over it.

Dean hums, kissing and licking obscenely at his partner’s face while Castiel grabs tight to his husband’s untucked shirt. “Dean, bed,” he mumbles.

Though they’ve made love countless times before, something is different this time. It could be the way their hands press into the mattress, fingers curling over one another’s as their gold rings clink together exquisitely. Or it could be the way they move slowly, savouring and tasting and loving long and drawn-out; deep.

 _Because_ , Castiel thinks in amazement as they cuddle sometime later, bathed in afterglow;  _we have forever._

~ * ~

Dean and Cas buy Baby.

With all the money they received from the wedding, they have enough to purchase their old clubhouse and fix her up themselves, so that’s exactly what they do.

“So, who’s gonna carry who over the threshold?” Dean looks at Cas pointedly.

Castiel shakes his head despite the fact he’s grinning widely. “No. No, Dean—Ah!” The dark-haired man is quickly swept off his feet, gathered into strong arms and brought into the dilapidated house. “Home sweet home,” Dean grins.

Cas kisses him softly.

“Mmm,” the green-eyed man hums, holding his husband tighter to his chest. “We’re gonna have sex in every single room of his house.”

Castiel laughs.

~ * ~

It turns out that having sex in a place that still looks like the clubhouse you used to play in is beyond weird. It also turns out that having sex in a dilapidated house is kind of dangerous.

Dean ends up with a splinter in his backside. He says he’s fine, but Cas takes care of him any way. Castiel also kisses it better.

…Which leads to two more splinters. Dean resolves to wait until the house is finished (or at least the floors) before christening every room.

For the most part, it works.

~ * ~

When the inside of the house is finally finished, paint and all, Dean and Cas go furniture shopping. The apartment that they’d been previously sharing had been furnished, so now they buy a small kitchen table with four wooden chairs, and spend an afternoon trying out real mattresses. Dean pushes for memory foam. Cas doesn’t care as long as it’s bigger than the borrowed single they currently sleeping on (courtesy of Sam).

The arguments start when they’re choosing furniture for the living room. Dean wants a couch and a large TV, and Castiel wants two chairs point blank. “Cas c’mon, please…”

“We’re already getting those things for the basement,” Castiel argues reasonably.

The last two things the pair purchase are mismatched chairs: one blue loveseat for Dean, whose upholstery is so soft and fluffy it almost swallows him whole, and a supple green armchair for Cas, perfect for reading sprawled out when his legs are thrown over the spongy armrest. 

Nine times out of ten, the pair end up cuddling on Dean’s loveseat.

Dean doesn’t say a word.

~ * ~

Landscaping and the outside of the house come next. Dean weeds the grass while Cas digs up spaces in the front and back yards for a garden. He fills the front with flowers of every colour in existence, planting trees and bushes and sunflowers. Cas plants tons of sunflowers… Mostly because they remind him of Dean.

Dean builds a deck in the back. It’s big enough for a barbecue, and small table and chairs, and is finished long before Castiel is done perfecting his fruit and vegetable garden. Cas plants tomatoes and cucumbers, strawberries, lettuce, carrots, raspberries and blackberries, herbs… he even manages to get a small apple tree. For weeks, the dark-haired man comes inside only when the sun goes down, covered head to toe in dirt and sweat.

Which is just as well, because Dean is usually covered in various bright colours from his day of painting the outside paneling of the house.

It turns out that Cas likes Dean sun-kissed and paint-smeared.

It turns out that Dean likes Cas dirt-blackened and smelling of sweat and earth.

It turns out both men like washing each other in their tiny shower, though whether it’s before or after rigorous sex depends on the night.

On the nights the don’t make it into the bathroom first, they usually end up halfway into a flowerbed. The same flowerbed. Every single time. Castiel knows he should be upset his flowers are in a perpetual state of brokenness, and maybe even a little horrified at Dean’s obvious kink, but to be honest, the sight of snapped stems at one corner of his garden makes him smile uncontrollably.

As Dean finishes up with the house, Cas builds and paints a mailbox. He writes their names on the side of the white-washed thing in long, sloping letters, and when Dean comes around to see, still covered in paint, he leaves behind a purple handprint by mistake. With a grin, Castiel smears the red paint he’d been using over his own palm and fingers and presses his print right next to that of his husband.

Dean proceeds to kiss him senseless.

~ * ~

Cas pulls Dean up the hill at the far end of the park, picnic basket in hand. The latter is blindfolded as he stumbles along, grinning.

“You can take it off, now.”

Dean opens his eyes to Cas placing Tupperwares on a red and white-checkered tablecloth that's been spread on the ground. Dean's smile widens, chin resting on his husband’s shoulder as he tries to see into the picnic basket. Castiel pushes him off with a laugh and a roll of his eyes.

“But you brought it, right?” Dean asks anxiously.

Cas shrugs but gives a sly grin.

“Fuck, I love you.”

And then they’re kissing. Castiel rolls himself on top of his husband, knocking a closed container of potato salad out of way as they hum and sigh against each other, fingers pressing into warm skin and soft hair. A dog barking eventually breaks them apart, and Cas slowly reaches into the picnic basket, narrowing his eyes playfully as Dean buzzes impatiently. “Cas, quit playin’ around.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want this?”

He pulls out an apple pie.

Dean kisses him soundly before going straight for the homemade dessert, bypassing fries and burgers and beer as he reaches inside the basket for plates and cutlery. “You’re the best.”

“Some days,” Castiel replies.

A soft kiss to the corner of Cas’s mouth. “Always.”

They spend the afternoon feeding each other pie and watching the clouds, calling out different shapes and objects. Most times, Dean interprets a phallus, while Castiel seems to be stuck on guinea pigs. 

Their fingers stay entwined for the entirety of their picnic. Which is nice, really nice, but also messy. Apparently, feeding another person one-handed takes a lot of skill of which neither Dean nor Cas posses.

 _But that’s okay_ , Dean thinks as he licks at Castiel’s jaw much,  _much_  later; _Cas tastes best sun-warmed and covered in pie._

~ * ~

“So… what do you think?”

Dean is clad in a zookeeper’s uniform, covered in khaki and pockets and big hiking boots. He has a hat on his head and a nervous smile on his lips as he looks at Castiel expectantly, standing outside the South America house at the zoo.

Looking around quickly, Cas lets go of his colourful balloon cart and pulls Dean in for a tender kiss. “You look lovely,” the blue-eyed man says, fingers running along the material of Dean’s shirt and necktie and belt and shorts—

“Nnngh!  _Cas_ ,” Dean hisses despite his large grin. “Dude, we’re at work!”

“That’s yours, right?”

“What?”

“The zookeeper getup. Do you get to keep it?”

“Yeah…”

Cas grins, patting his husband’s posterior affectionately. “Good.”

Dean is blushing wildly as accompaniment to his large grin and looks up from blue eyes for only a moment, his own green ones widening. Dean's face twists into a panicked expression. “Oh  _shit_.” He lunges past Castiel, catching the floating balloon cart in the knick of time.

Both men sigh in relief.

As Dean hands the cart back to his partner, he snaps one of the bands on Cas’s arms teasingly. “I like this, too.”

Dinner consists of cold leftovers at midnight, both men stumbling into the kitchen naked and satisfied and cloaked in separate blankets.

They sleep on the comfy loveseat.

~ * ~

Cas and Dean cuddle a lot.

They cuddle in bed, and in the grass outside, and at their picnic spot. Sometimes they drive out to The Lookout and cuddle in the backseat or on the hood of the car. They cuddle in their uncomfortable but fairly large outdoor chairs, and when Dean is feeling particularly daring, he climbs onto Cas’s small armchair, fitting them together. When this happens, Castiel always loses the place in his book and Dean always kisses that spot on Cas’s neck that drives him crazy as a peace offering.

But their favourite place to cuddle is the loveseat. It’s just big enough for both men to fit comfortably squished against each other, and the pillows are so soft and they sink so far that it feels like lying on a cloud. Though Castiel refuses to get rid of his armchair, he spends most of his time curled up and entangled with Dean on the other piece of furniture. They spend their time either reading or drawing or kissing and it’s glorious.

Castiel feels blessed.

~ * ~

Going to their picnic spot on the weekends becomes a regular occurrence when the weather is good, though Cas has stopped going all out food-wise unless it’s a special occasion. Dean will sometimes make something spectacular to bring along, but most of the time is content with PB&J or cold cuts. He refuses to eat salad.

“That one looks like an elephant with wings, see it?”

Castiel nods, squinting against the sun as he points to another cloud. They’ve long since finished eating, and cloud gazing before going home has become tradition. “That one looks like a baby.”

“Huh… yeah, I guess it does.”

“And right there is its head and its arms and-”

“We should have a kid.”

Castiel freezes. “What?”

“We should have a kid,” Dean repeats. He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “You’d be a great dad.”

“Dean, we can’t. It’s physically impossible.”

“No, I know, but don’t you want- I mean, it’d be nice, right? You and me and… and… a kid. We’d be a family.”

“We already are a family,”

Dean is frustrated. “This is about your parents, isn’t it?”

Castiel doesn’t say a word.

“Cas, you’re  _nothing_  like them-”

“But what if I am?” Castiel frets. “What if I end up like them? I was emotionally neglected as a child, Dean. I was given whatever I wanted and the only time my mother spoke to me was to discipline me… And please, don’t even get me started on my father-”

“Hey,” Dean says softly, anchoring a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You won’t be like them.”

“But how can you be sure-”

“Because, Cas, that’s not  _you_. You’re awesome and fun and you’d love the shit out of our kid. Don’t worry about that. Worry about if you actually want one or not.”

Cas huffs a laugh. “With you? Of course I do, Dean. I want everything with you: a family and a child and rubbing salve onto the sores on your ass when we’re old and grey.”

“I won’t have butt sores.”

“Debatable.”

“How is that debatable?”

Castiel heaves a dramatic sigh, a teasing smile to his lips as he shrugs. “I just have this feeling that one day, you’ll sit on that loveseat in our living room and never get up. I’ll have to bring you food and water and when you have to go to the bathroom-”

“Cas! Ew. Gross, dude.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“It’s comfy, okay?”

Castiel grins.

Dean rolls his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with liking comfort, Cas.”

“No,” Castiel replies, grin fading to a soft smile. “No, there isn’t.”

“Besides…” Dean says gruffly, turning his attention back to the sky with a squeeze of Cas’s hand. “I only really like it when you’re there with me. Feels off otherwise. Comfy, but off.” Turning his head, green meets blue in a soft stare. “You know what I mean?”

“I do.”

When they get home that evening, Dean and Cas look into adoption agencies.

~ * ~

“Should we move the crib closer to the door, or keep it by the window?”

Castiel frowns in thought and steps down from his mural, rubbing his hands in an old paint cloth. “I’m not sure. Maybe leave it where it is for now? We can always move it later.”

“Right. Yeah, that’s- yeah, that’s good.”

Their baby girl is scheduled to be born in a few weeks and Dean is beyond excited. He’s also beyond nervous. So is Cas.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” Castiel asks, looking around the room critically. They have a gorgeous baby crib with a mobile, a changing table, some toys and stuffed animals and books, and on the wall, Cas’s stork mural, complete with baby bundle. The room is painted a soft purple colour.

“Yeah,” Dean says softly. “I think she will.”

~ * ~

“Doc!” Dean exclaims, jumping up from his chair with a nervous grin. Castiel pauses in his pacing. “Is it over? Is she ready? Can we see her?”

The Doctor puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

Castiel feels his heart sink.

No.

Nonononono _no_.

They have a name picked out. They have tiny clothes and sheets and Cas bought a photo album entitled ‘Baby’s First’. They have formula. Diapers. Blankets that cost an arm and a leg but are so damn soft Dean had insisted, because  _nothing is too expensive for Ellie, Cas. Nothing._

“I’m so very sorry,” the doctor says quietly.

Dean clenches his fists and jaw, swallowing thickly as tears spring to his eyes. Castiel stays rooted to the spot.

“For what it’s worth,” the gynecologist continues. “You two are the most loving couple we’ve seen here in a while; you’ll make great parents… Just not today.”

“Pam?” Dean croaks out. “Is she..?”

“Pamela is fine. Upset, but fine. She’s sorry to have disappointed you.”

“No,” Dean forces a smile and a laugh. “No, she- she should just worry about herself. We’re really… We…”

“We’re so sorry,” Castiel rasps out, stepping up beside his partner.

The doctor tells them he’ll relay the message. “You know,” he says quietly. “This is probably the last thing you want to hear right now, but you can always try again. You really will make wonderful parents.”

They do try. They try three more times, and by the time the fourth falls through for some reason or another, Dean is tired. He and Cas are getting old, and he doesn’t think he can deal with another disappointment.

They don’t try again

~ * ~

Though the knowledge that he and Dean will never raise a child breaks Castiel’s heart, watching his husband live like there’s no longer anything worthwhile hurts even more. Cas watches Dean sit under their apple tree, tossing around one perfect red fruit. A blank look covers his handsome features and Castiel feels his stomach twist. It looks so incredibly wrong.

Climbing up to their room, Castiel roots around in the closet, pulling down a dusty old book that says: ‘My Adventure Book’ in colourful letters.

“Hey kid!!” Cas calls, book in hand as he makes his way outside. Dean drops his apple with a frown. “Thought you’d need some cheering up,” the blue-eyed man smiles. “So I brought something to show you.”

Dean looks from the book to Cas’s face half a dozen times, features contorting into a small smile as he reaches up for his husband’s hand. He pulls Castiel into his lap and hugs him tightly, burying his face into dark hair. As he breathes deeply, Cas can feel Dean shaking against his back, rogue tears hitting the nape of his neck. Castiel turns in Dean’s arms to hug him properly.

“I love you,” Dean breathes into his skin.

Cas closes his eyes in relief.

~ * ~

They move everything on the mantle, replacing old books and trinkets with a compass, a native bird figurine, a map and a pair of binoculars, all expertly arranged by Dean. Cas has painted a mural of Baby atop Paradise Falls over the display, and when the last edge of the map has been nudged into place, both men step back to admire their work.

“It’s a shrine,” Castiel says. “We’ve built a shrine.”

Dean nudges him with a lecherous wink and grin, and though the thing doesn’t reach his eyes, Cas is grateful for the improvement. “Does this mean we get to have weird, ritualistic sex?” Dean teases.

Castiel barks a laugh.

There’s a possibility they end up having something resembling weird ritualistic sex. Maybe.

~ * ~

Castiel doesn’t throw out their used, jumbo-sized pickle jar. Instead, he writes ‘PARADISE FALLS’ with different coloured Sharpies and places it on the kitchen table. When Dean walks in and sees Castiel staring at the empty jar, he turns tail only to come back a few minutes later with a handful of pennies.

Dean drops them, one by one, into the jar with a smile. When he’s done, he crosses his heart. Castiel crosses his as well.

“You promised,” Dean says with a small smile.

Castiel nods. “No backing out.”

Dean’s smile reaches his eyes.

~ * ~

“We can’t just smash it,” Dean insists.

“What else are we supposed to do?”

“We can take the bus or something. Cas, that’s our Paradise Falls money.”

“I know. Do you have today’s paper? If a bus comes around the same general time we might be safe…”

Five minutes later, the jar has been smashed to smithereens. Castiel eyes Dean with a raised brow. 

“Schedule said we’d have to get up at six and it’d take us an hour,” he says simply. “That means no morning blowjobs or any of that touchy feely stuff we do when we wake up.”

“You made the right decision.”

~ * ~

“Hey, you okay? I’m so sorry, Cas, I came as fast as I could.”

Castiel nods, smile slipping into a grimace as he raises his broken arm. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” Dean breathes, lips pressing against Cas’s temple. “S’all that matters.”

“Dean, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“We have to break the jar again.”

“So? We’ll refill it.”

~ * ~

The power has gone out and candles are strewn all over the living room because it’s too hot for the fireplace. Crumbs from cold pizza line two porcelain plates, placed on the floor as an afterthought as it rains and pours outside, the room rumbling with every bout of thunder.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas keens, gripping at his partner’s hair tightly.

“I got you, Cas. I got you. That’s it darlin’, let go. Come for me, babe.  _Cas_ -”

The sound of the roof being crushed by a tree totally kills the mood.

“Jar?” Dean groans, naked body flopped over Castiel’s and hanging half off the loveseat.

Cas sighs in agreement: “Jar.”

~ * ~

“Cas, we’re gonna be late.”

“ _Son of a bitch_!” Castiel yells, hands dropping from where he’d been fumbling with his tie.

Dean’s eyes widen. This is maybe the fourth time he’s heard Cas swear…  _Ever._ “Woah there, Rambo, cool your jets.”

Castiel shoots him a monumental glare.

“You need help with that?”

“No.”

Dean raises a brow. Cas narrows his eyes. “Yes,” he mutters. “The whole thing is ridiculous. How many years have I been wearing bow-ties? And now to suddenly change? Stupid, idiotic, moronic…  _assbutts_!”

Dean snorts, easily flipping the material into a smooth knot. “I’m just impressed you can do a friggin’ bow-tie but can’t find your way around a tie.”

Cas rolls his eyes. He tries to step back immediately after Dean is finished, but finds himself stuck; the other man is holding onto the infernal pieces of fabric around his neck.

“I thought we were going to be late,” Castiel says impatiently.

Dean shrugs all too innocently. “What’s a few extra minutes?”

They are exactly fifteen minutes late.

~ * ~

Apparently, Dean has a bit of a tie fetish. Three years later, he still insists on straightening and tying every tie Castiel has ever put on before work. His favourite is the deep blue one for reasons unbeknownst to Cas. That is, until Castiel asks one morning, fingers tracing freckled cheeks as they lounge in bed, still sleep-soft and warm.

“Matches your eyes,” Dean murmurs in response, still half-asleep. “’S why I like blue so much.” Cas presses their lips together in a soft kiss, scratching his nails along his lover’s bare back. Dean sighs. “Love you.”

Castiel wears blue as often as he possibly can.

~ * ~

Thirty years later, Dean and Cas stand in front of the hallway mirror like they’ve done so many times before. They drive to work. The pair still work at the zoo, and Castiel watches Dean talk with the children who come to visit. He continues to man his balloon cart.

This time, when it starts to float away, Cas rests a casual elbow on it. Dean catches his eye and grins. Castiel smiles fondly.

Other than an increase in worldly wisdom and slowly wrinkling skin, nothing has really changed.

~ * ~

Dean has taken to dancing with Cas in the kitchen. They’ll be making dinner, or finishing up the dishes, or simply passing through, and Dean will catch his husband by the waist and pull him close, the pair swaying to their old radio or to nothing at all.

One night, Castiel makes a nice dinner, lights some candles and they dance in the kitchen until the wee hours of the morning.

“I love you,” he breathes into Dean’s space before kissing him soundly, sweetly.

Dean smiles. “I love you, too.”

In the living room, the Paradise Falls jar has become a bookend.

~ * ~

Cas and Dean spend a lot of their free time cleaning. As they get older, it takes more time to do simple chores, and their work is often interspersed with bouts of lounging and kissing on the loveseat. It’s a little more awkward because they both have glasses now: thick black things that are constantly knocking together, but they manage. Honestly, Castiel likes how Dean looks in his dark frames, and Dean likes that, every so often, he has to push Cas’s glasses up the bridge of his nose because he forgets.

Today is cleaning day.

Today, it’s Castiel’s turn to dust the Adventure Shrine. The greying man smiles as he does, carefully picking up a picture of a young and wild Dean. Dean’s got a missing tooth in the picture, and he’s wearing his flight helmet and goggles. They had been so young, once…

Castiel looks up at the mural he’d painted a lifetime ago before turning his gaze to Dean. Dean, who is humming happily as he sweeps the floor. Dean, who feels Cas staring and turns with a warm smile.

Dean, who has never truly stepped a foot out of this town.

_No backing out._

The next day, Castiel goes to the travel agency.

~ * ~

“Come on, Dean!” Cas runs up the hill as fast as his ageing legs will carry him, dropping his husband’s hand as he does. Two tickets to South America are tucked into his picnic basket. “What was it you called me that one time? ‘Slow poke’? Come on, slow poke! Or are you getting old?”

But there’s no witty retort, and Castiel turns just in time to see his lover, his partner, his  _Dean_  fall knees first onto the grass, faltering when he attempts to stand. “Dean?” Cas asks softly. “Dean!”

Castiel doesn’t remember how he gets to his green-eyed man, or how they get to the hospital… but he does remember the horrible wheezing that comes from Dean’s mouth, as if that parody of breath can in anyway replace the clear, soft puffs that usually push through his lover's pink lips.

Something is very, very wrong.

~ * ~

Dean is propped up on his hospital bed, looking through the Adventure Book with a smile. From the corner of his eye, he sees a blue balloon float into the room. The stick tied to the end of the string hits his book gently. Castiel is standing in the doorway.

“Hey, kid,” Dean smiles. “I’ve got something for you.”

Cas smiles, too. Quickly, he walks to Dean’s bedside and shimmies up on the mattress, facing his best friend as he nudges their noses together. He gives Dean a soft kiss.

Dean hums as they pull away, pressing their mouths together once more before falling back on the pillows, exhausted. “It’s not memory foam,” he complains.

Castiel huffs a laugh. “You’ll just have to wait until you come home to get a good night’s rest.”

“Yeah…”

Unspoken, darkness hangs in the air. It’s almost tangible, and Cas wants nothing to do with it. He plays with a corner of the impersonal, rough hospital blanket.

Dean watches with a small smile. “Here,” he murmurs, pushing the Adventure Book towards his Everything.

Castiel grips it tightly. “Safe keeping for when you come back,” he says, leaving no room for argument.

Dean nods. “For when I come back.”

It takes his every effort, but Dean Winchester forces himself to lean forward and adjust Cas’s backwards tie. “No, Dean-”

But Dean merely pats Castiel’s cheek and gives a half-hearted shrug. “Can’t have you leavin’ here lookin’ like a bum.”

He falls back onto the pillows with a grunt and wheeze, and Cas feels his heart break.

Dean smiles fondly. “You hafta learn how to tie a tie, man.”

“No, I don’t. I have you.”

Dean’s smile widens. “I spoiled you. All those years of doin’ it for you and now you don’t even wanna learn.”

At this, Castiel sniffs. “I don’t need to learn. Bow-ties work just as well.”

“Bow-ties are a thing of the past, old man.”

“Says the one eating hospital pudding cups for the elderly.”

“Hey, those things are delicious.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

Dean shakes his head. “I’m tellin’ you, man. It’s a conspiracy. They taste like friggin’ chocolate ice cream and have all this nutritious stuff in ‘em… No wonder the old people complain it tastes like shit, they wanna keep ‘em to themselves!”

Cas actually honest-to-God laughs, staring at Dean as the sound trails of with a soft smile, hand moving to push through almost white hair. “What am I going to do without you?”

“Hoard pudding cups?”

“Not likely.”

“Killjoy,” Dean mutters through a sigh. “Hey, Cas?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Castiel grins. “I love you, too.”

They sit together for a long time, eyes closed and forehead-to-forehead as they share soft kisses and whispers. Eventually, it’s Dean who breaks the silence:

“So, I guess this means I was right.”

“About what?”

“About not have disgusting sores on my ass.”

Castiel gives him a look. “There are times I cannot believe we’re married.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, though his tone is warm and sappy. “Me neither.”

Cas feels the oddest mix of emotions. On the one hand, he can’t stop himself from grinning and buries his face in Dean’s neck to hide his ridiculous blush, skin searing hot against his husband’s cooler flesh... But as he’s there, as he’s touching and holding and smelling, Castiel feels tears squeeze out from behind his closed eyelids. “I love you.”

They stay like that for a long time.

~ * ~

There are lots of people who can’t make it to the funeral: Gabriel, Anna, Garth… Jo and Ellen stay until the end, and Sam and Jess keep Castiel company long after the church empties out, but eventually, they leave as well. Cas understands.

He looks out over the pews with a choked sob; it feels wrong to remember his wedding day when he has literally just lost his Everything.

The bouquet of balloons begin to wilt in his hands.

~ * ~

Castiel does not want to go home.

He doesn’t want to see the loveseat, or the memory foam bed, or the Adventure Shrine. He doesn’t even want to see the garden. Cas doesn’t want memories… He wants Dean.

It takes everything for Castiel to walk up the front steps, but he does it. His bouquet of balloons have all wilted or popped except for the single blue one, and Cas is taking it as a sign. He can do this. Dean would not want him to be scared of their house.

When Castiel gets inside, he thinks maybe he was wrong. Maybe he doesn’t want to be rid of the memories… Maybe he wants to hoard them. No, he  _certainly_ wants to hoard them.

Cas shuts the door.

He doesn’t open it again for a very long time.


End file.
